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Inheritance of long descent!
The sacred pledge, so dearly priz'd
By that bless'd spirit we lament:
Grief-easing lays, by grief devis’d,
Plaintive numbers, gently flowing,
Sooth the sorrows to him owing !
S TROPHE IV.
Early on his growing heir,
Stamp what time may not impair,
As he grows, that coming years,
Or youthful pleasures, or the vain
Gigantic phantom of the brain
Ambition, breeding monstrous hopes and fears,
Or worthier cares, to youth unknown,
Ennobling manhood, flower of life full-blown,
May never wear the bofom-image faint :
O, let him prøve what words but weakly paint,
The lively lovely semblance of his fire,
A model to his fon! that ages may admire !
ANTIS TROPHE IV.
Every virtue, every grace,
Still renewing in the race,
Once thy father's pleasing hope,
Thy widow'd mother's comfort now,
No fuller bliss does heaven allow,
While we behold yon wide-spread azure cope,
With burning stars thick-luster'd o'er,
Than to enjoy, and to deserve, a store
Of treasur'd fame, by blameless deeds acquir’d,
By all unenvied, and by all desir'd,
Free-gift of men, the tribute of good-will!
Rich in this patrimony fair, increase it still.
E PO Ď E IV.
The fullnels of content remains
Above the yet unfathom’d skies,
Where, triumphant, gladness reigns,
Where wishes cease, and pleasures rise
Beyond all with ; where bitter tears
For dying friends are never shed;
Where, fighing, none desire pass’d years
Recall'd, or with the future fled.
Mournful measures, O, relieve ine!
Sweet remembrance ! cease to grieve me.
S T R OP HE V.
He the robe of justice wore
Sully'd not, as heretofore,
When the magistrate was fought
With yearly gifts. Of what avail
Are guilty hoards ? for life is frail ;
And we are judgʻd where favour is not bought. 142
By him forewarn'd, thou frantic ille,
How did the thirft of gold thy fons beguile !
Beneath the specious ruin thousands groan'd,
By him, alas, forewarn’d, by him bemoan’d, 146
Where shall his like, on earth, be found ? oh, when
Shall I, once more, behold the most belov'd of men !
Α Ν Τ Ι.
Winning aspect! winning mind !
Soul and body aptly join'd!
Searching thought, engaging wit,
Enabled to instruct, or please,
Uniting dignity with ease,
By nature form’d for every purpose fit,
154 Endearing excellence !--O, why Is such perfection born, and born to die? Or do such rare endowments still survive, As plants, remov'd to milder regions thrive, 158 In one eternal spring ? and we bewail The parting soul, new-born to life that cannot fail.
E PO DE V.
Where sacred friendship, plighted love,
Parental joys, unmix'd with care,
Through perpetual time improve ?
Or do the deathless blessed thare
Sublimer raptures, unreveal’d,
Beyond our weak conception pure ?
But, while those glories lie concealid,
The righteous count the promise sure,
Trials to the last enduring,
To the last their hope fecuring.
WILLIAM PULTENEY, ESQUIRE.
WHO, much distinguish’d, yet is bless'd ?
Who, dignified above the rest,
Does, still, unenvied live?
Not to the man whose wealth abounds,
Nor to the man whose fame resounds,
Does heaven such favour give,
Nor to the noble-bom, nor to the strong,
Nor to the gay, the beautiful, or young.
Whom then, secure of happiness,
Does every eye beholding bless,
every tongue commend ?
Him, Pulteney, who, possessing store,
Is not folicitous of more,
Who, to mankind a friend,
Nor envies, nor is envied by, the great,
Polite in courts, polite in his retreat :
Whose unambitious, active soul,
Attends the welfare of the whole,
When public storms arise,
And, in the calm, a thoutand ways
Diversifies his nights and days,
Still elegantly wife;
While books, each morn, the lightsome foul invite,
And friends, with season’d mirth, improve the night.
In him do men no blemish fee;
And factions in his praise agree,
When most they vex the state :
Distinguish'd favourite of the skies,
28 Belov'd he lives, lamented dies :
Yet, shall he not to fate
Submit entire; the rescuing Muse fall save
His precious name, and win him from the grave. 32
Too frail is brass and polish'd stone;
Perpetual fame the Muse alone
On merit can bestow :
Yet, must the time-enduring song,
The verse unrival’d by the throng,
From Nature's bounty flow :
Th’ungifted tribe in metre pass away,
Oblivion's sport, the poets of a day.
What laws fall o'er the Ode prefide ?
In vain would art presume to guide
The chariot-wheels of praise,
When Fancy, driving, ranges frce,
44 Fresh flowers selecting, like the bee,
And regularly strays, While Nature does, disdaining aids of skill, The mind with thought, the ears with numbers, fill.